


a duckling named, 'melody'.

by locklinson (Star_less)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 'Baby' Sherlock, 'daddy' John, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mrs. Hudson is the 'nana', Non-Sexual Age Play, One Shot, Sad Sherlock, Slice of Life, daddy/baby johnlock, little!lock, mild omorashi, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/locklinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of one (regressed, little, teensy weensy) Sherlock Holmes, his daddy John, landlady turned caregiver Mrs. Hudson.</p><p>And a tiny plush duckling.</p><p>Oh, and Jammie Dodgers and hot chocolate in a bottle.</p><p>Can't forget the Jammie Dodgers and hot chocolate in a bottle. S'not a <i>story</i> without the Jammie Dodgers and hot chocolate in a bottle.</p><p>(Sherlock says so.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a duckling named, 'melody'.

**Author's Note:**

> so, um. Hi ^^;  
> It feels weird to be posting this. I'm a One Direction fan and I feel like I've betrayed my fandom xD  
> But, I'm almost done with watching Sherlock, and it has to be said.. he has one hell of a little side. Like. It just. Screams. Out.  
> I couldn't help but try and capture it here.
> 
> since I'm only part way through the series, this is very slightly out of character; but given that this is an ageplay/abdl centered fanfic, that's expected, perhaps?
> 
> Also, oh gosh, investigations aren't my strong point... Or the focus of the story... Please gloss over that. I cringe just reading that scene. It's the only reason I haven't posted this here sooner. Sorry!!! 

As they walked along the rain patterned London streets, John's voice drilled into Sherlock. Sherlock himself stared at the ground and walked, as silent as ever. It was getting to the point where Sherlock was ignoring John not because the man had some quite, er, not very good...? assumptions on things, but that everything was getting jumbled in his brain and suddenly he didn't really understand why they needed diuretics or what they even were. He frowned a little and his mouth opened, ready to whine. The deepest portions of his mind were crying at him to just let himself slip, but--

No. Not here. Not yet. He had been doing so well. Especially given the case they were on today. Sherlock coughed and shuffled his feet. "Er, John. What do we need the.. diu.. doodah's for, then?"

"To test them, see if they were in the victim's system." John reminded. "Or, if Anderson's theory is correct, to get our suspect to, eh, pee. If he regressed her without her knowledge, there could be traces of it in his system. Perhaps he kissed her to get it into her, I don't know."

Shrug.

Right. Sherlock frowned painfully, looking around at the world around him. It was just his damn luck they were on a case involving someone with his particular... interest. None of this case was making _sense_ to him. Just the mention of regressing had him doing so, and he couldn't concentrate. Suddenly, a flash caught his eye. Gasping childishly, the detective skittered along the cobblestone to the window of a toy shop, coat tails flapping.

There, perched on a stack of books, was a plush duck. She - yes, it _was_ a she, Sherlock had decided - had pastel yellow feathers, amber dots for eyes that _sparkled_ as she looked to him from her throne of books-- oh, plus a small pink ribbon tied around her neck. She was attached to a glinting keychain. If Sherlock was having trouble keeping himself mentally together, all hope was lost now. He let out a small squeak of awe and pushed his hands to the cool glass, peering in at her, feeling an overwhelming sense of _need_.

"--and, I.. Sherlock!" John moaned, finding his friend no longer listening to him. He threw his gaze skyward in despair but slowly calmed when he saw the detective peering into the toy shop window. Slowly, John joined him there. Sherlock jumped when John's reflection met his own. 

"What are you looking at?" John asked softly.  
Sherlock slowly jabbed a finger in the direction of the duck. He gave John a hopeful smile, the corners of his lips tugging up. "Please." He whispered, hope filling every letter. "Please, John, oh, I promise, I'll be good-- we can get those dee.. diu.. pee doodah thingies afterwards!"

John took a moment to look between the much coveted duck and the detective's reaction. "Sherlock... Sherlock, listen to me." John cooed, cupping Sherlock's cheeks with both hands. His voice was slow and patient and he held the giddy, rambling little boy steady as he waited for Sherlock to grasp his attention. Sherlock slowly calmed and his eyes gave a cool glance to John. His lips jutted.  
John pushed a burning kiss in the midst of Sherlock's tousles, and quickly pulled away. "... Okay, Sherlock. It's okay. We can go get..." He looked at the duck in the window. "Her." He cooed. "But we have to be quick, alright?"  
Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. He clasped John's hand in his own and squealed, bursting inside the toy shop.  
~

There was no doubt about it. Sherlock was bloody besotted with the tiny duckling. John began to fear Sherlock loved her.. it?.. more than he did John. Sherlock couldn't help it. He loved the feeling of the velvety plush on his fingers and how she could be hidden in his coat pocket. Her size was a slight issue, however, when he lost her in the sea of duvet on his bed and whined for John at whatever-bloody-time-it-was, who was considerably unhappy at this interruption.

"Daddy, what does that say?" Sherlock asked one morning, pulling back the curled up tag stitched into the duckling's back. 

"It says, 'eat your lunch, Sherlock.'" John murmured distractedly. He turned over a page of The Guardian, took the spoon into his free hand and tried to feed Sherlock a spoonful of Heinz baked beans while trying to keep full interest in the 'disappearing bees' scandal. Odd, that. 

Sherlock whined, but side-eyed the duck and took a mouthful of the baked beans. Chewing quietly, he held the tag out again. "What does it saaaay, daddy." He stressed. It was a name beginning with the M sound, Sherlock knew that. Molly? Mycroft? Moriarty? Nothing seemed to fit!  
John slowly put down his paper and squinted at the faded pink tag. "I think-- mhm, yes. I think it says Melody, Sherlock."

"Melody." Sherlock gave a satisfied smile as he held the tiny plush to his chest and stroked the soft head, looking fondly down at her. "I just knew she was a girl."

"Did you, now?" John asked with a nod and a small smile. Sherlock nodded insistently, swallowed another mouthful of baked beans with a loud gulp, and hopped down from the table.  
"Where are you off to?" John asked, not looking up from his paper. 

"Me and Melody," Sherlock began indignantly, stressing 'and Melody',"have some important things to esp- ep--"  
He paused, frowned, and mentally tried to sound it out. John could see the cogs and gears whirring in Sherlock's mind.  
"Essperiment with!" the small man exploded. 

John just chuckled. "Oh no you don't. What's Daddy's rules, Sherlock?" he asked. Sherlock whined and his hands dropped. He gave John a brilliant set of puppy dog eyes, looked down and lisped, "no essperiments when I'm little."

"That's right. Maybe sometimes with Daddy around." John explained soothingly. He made Sherlock look up at him. The regressed detective offered John a hopeful smile; in response, he got a tentative head shake. Sherlock's smile didn't drop. "I- I won't be on my own!" He burbled hurriedly, "Melody will be with me!"

John laughed, causing Sherlock's smile to increase just slightly. "Mmmm.." John hummed, shaking his head again. "I don't think so, Sherlock. Do little boys do science experiments?"

Sherlock was silent and reflective. John answered for him, feeling his teeth rotting at just the thought of what was going to come out of his mouth. 

"No." He said, in a low hushed tone, brushing tresses of dark hair to frame Sherlock's baby face. "Little boys do not do science experiments. Little boys have to be protected by their Daddy. Just like me with you." John explained.  
While John talked, Sherlock felt his eyelids growing heavy. The baked beans in his stomach were making him feel full and John's voice had some rhythmic, soothing qualities. He brought one hand up and rubbed slowly at his eyes. John smiled, and continued. "Why don't you go and take a nap on the settee, love?"

"Can Melody co--" Sherlock started. He paused to let out an ear splitting yawn. Laughing, John lifted Sherlock onto the settee and laid him down. "Yes, Melody can come and take a nap too." He said, tucking the small duckling in next to Sherlock. Sherlock let out a hum of comfort, his lips parting as he nuzzled down under the covers with the duck resting just under his chin. John settled down onto the armchair opposite, pulling his laptop close; and slowly began to type out a new blog post.  
In addition to the usual, John liked to keep a record of any memorable moments he had when Sherlock had regressed, mainly for himself to look back on.

**25th May 2014: A Duckling Named Melody**  
_Sherlock has developed a particular interest in a toy duckling after seeing it in Hamley's about a week or two ago. I couldn't resist not buying it for him. I must admit it is odd to see him clutching onto the toy with such love, but I suppose it's natural for him to want a comfort object. So far, Melody - that's what she's named - and yes, Sherlock is adamant she is a she - has been everywhere with Sherlock. If she's not lost in bed with him she's observing him eat breakfast, lunch and dinner, if not that then she's his companion as he trails back and forth to the toilet. Mealtimes mean I'm expected to serve an extra plate of food for her too.. It's a ridiculous situation, but I can't resist indulging Sherlock - he's rarely like this. So far (again) I've saved the bloody toy from getting drowned - Sherlock's Sunday bath - and getting an all-over dye job (accidental chemical spillage from a sneaky experiment. Sherlock's bottom became very well acquainted with my hand that day!)_

The phone started to ring. John looked over at it, but didn't move. He let his fingers type once more.

 _Phone is ringing. No doubt it's another case. I dread the day Sherlock tries to bring the blasted duck out on a case with us. Sometimes, I swear he loves that duck more than he loves me. On that note, I think I'll end this blog post off here. Won't be long before I'm back with another scenario I'll bet. Don't want to tempt fate, but Sherlock hasn't regressed while out, yet._  
~

"Yes Lestrade, he's just here. I'll, I'll tell him now. Thank you Lestrade." Sighing softly John came off of the phone, and rubbed his temples.

He should not have tempted fate because now they had a scenario on their hands again. John turned around to look at Sherlock, his face pushed against Melody. All stress was lost from his face. Sleeping was a thing Sherlock didn't really put up with much, either. 'It's just time spent _not thinking_ , John. Boring.' was his stock reply to that. Little Sherlock, however, was entirely different. Yes, there was the occasional vehement denial of nap time; which was to be expected of every little boy or girl. But, John guessed, little Sherlock had to work hard to keep big Sherlock hidden (and vice versa) and... well, it exhausted him.  
John hated having to wake Sherlock up when he was in his little space; he was sure he'd hate it even more when he had to go telling Sherlock in no uncertain terms to grow up to keep on solving a case.

"Sheeeerrlock." John murmured, his hands caressing the sleeping lad's hair. "Wake up, come on." He cooed.  
Sherlock continued to sleep, his only movement a flutter of his lashes. He moaned and tucked his body in tighter. "Leave me alone."

"We have a case. Can't leave you now." John murmured.  
Sherlock's eyes snapped open at once and he groaned. "Don't want it. Make it go away." He mumbled simply, curling back in. 

John felt a pang in his heart. "I can't, Sherlock." He said. "Come on, get yourself up."  
He pulled away, and a grumpy Sherlock pulled himself up. He straightened out his clothes. John gave him a hopeful smile, but felt it crumble under Sherlock's frown. 

"I will go," Sherlock declared, voice a 'grown up' deep baritone; his eyes closing as he formulated the plan, "On one condition."

John tilted his head, wanting Sherlock to elaborate.

"I will go, s'long as I can bring Melody."  
~

John's eyes widened with worry, brows knotting together as he tried to work out whether it was big Sherlock or little Sherlock he was talking to. "Won't she be much safer at home, Sherlock?" He finally tried to reason, "I don't think--"

"John." Sherlock tried to keep his voice steady; his big side overwhelming his little. "I _need_ her with me." Sherlock pleaded, his large hands gripping the tiny plush. "I need her. She is going to keep me calm." He nodded. 

John sighed, "Alright, if she keeps you focused. Go and get dressed. Remember it's an underwear day not a nappy one!" He called as Sherlock darted from the room. Even when the detective wasn't having a 'little day', John couldn't help but notice how childish he really was, how it screamed out from every fibre of his being, and John kicked himself for not realising it sooner.  
~

Surprisingly, though, Sherlock was indeed big and happy to work on the case at hand. Most of the items sent off to forensics had come back negative for any regression medication.  
As per usual Sherlock was darting around, checking the body, checking the pacifier. It didn't make sense. Background checks had told them that the victim was anything but an ABDL to the point of her death, but there she was, looking very much regressed.

"This is stupid, Sherlock." Anderson told him. "Admit it, even you've got nothing."

"Your opinion is stupid, Anderson. Let me work." Sherlock huffed, when Anderson kept dragging him further and further away from his mind palace.

"Why would you regress someone and then kill them, then?" Anderson pointed out, "It's not to shut them up. As far as I'm aware, dead people don't exactly come back to life and cry out their murderer's name." He said.

"Oh well done, Anderson." Sherlock said sarcastically. "Gold star for you for grasping the concept of 'death', at last." He said. John had to stifle a giggle at that - Sherlock heard him - and this made Sherlock feel very warm and fuzzy indeed. Even Melody, who was clipped to the belt loop of Sherlock's trousers and bumping up against Sherlock's thigh, gave him a little round of applause.

That was where it went wrong. Sherlock moved his coat just slightly so he could get to Melody, since Daddy-- no, John, he was John -- had told him to cover up Melody with his coat. He hummed and brushed two fingertips to the plush head of the toy, mentally thanking her for at least supporting him while they tried to work everything out on the case. 

"What's that?" Anderson asked, his eyes connecting instantly to the yellow velvet plush. "What's that in your belt loop, Sherlock..?"

Sherlock instantly felt the solid grip on his mind start slipping somewhat. "Nothing." He managed to say, quickly covering up again. "Nothing, Anderson, to concern yourself with." He said. 

"It is." Anderson said with a wide eyed, incredulous tone in his voice. "Are you _stealing_ items from the case?" He asked, slowly making the pounce on Sherlock. Sherlock continued to back away as fear ignited in his eyes, gripping the side belt loop where Melody was threaded in.

"No." Sherlock choked out. _Oh, God. John... Help, please. Daddy, anything!_ He pleaded in his head as Sally Donovan and Lestrade came closer too. Donovan prised one arm away from the death grip it had on Melody, Lestrade was giving Sherlock a lecture which he was numbly listening to, and Anderson yanked Melody from the belt loop. "No!" Sherlock tried to wrench himself free to yank his fluffy friend back, but his efforts were largely unhelpful. Sour tears threatened to sting.

"What the hell are you doing?" John snapped, his voice going largely unheard beforehand, but now loud and clear, as Sherlock let out a heartsplitting cry. "Leave him alone!"

"I'm afraid Sherlock was trying to compromise the investigation, John." Lestrade calmly explained.  
"He took this." Anderson cut in, holding up Melody. "Obviously a part of the crime scene. Who knows what he'd want to do with it." He wrinkled his nose. 

John's heart dropped chest-to-feet as Anderson held up Melody, paling somewhat. He gulped. "Sherlock would never do that, Lestrade. It, it's not a part of, this." He pleaded, gesturing to the body, lifeless with a pacifier, nappy and dress. 

"We need to send it to forensics." Anderson overpowered the two. John was sure he was doing this to hit Sherlock's nerve. "There may be powder in the stuffing." Before John could protest, Lestrade had given a grim nod and disappeared off with Sherlock's comfort toy locked in his arms.

John rubbed his temples. He was glad the investigation appeared to be over, but now came the bigger challenge.

Comforting Sherlock. Or, as John looked around the now derelict crime scene, _finding_ Sherlock.  
~

"Sherlock!" John pleaded, walking around the crime scene one last time, heart sinking. He didn't put it past Sherlock to have hidden in a corner with something from the crime scene stuffed in his mouth, not when he was behaving like this. Namely the pacifier that, despite the pink exterior which Sherlock had deemed 'girly', he kept eyeing up. But after two entire circulations of the place, it was clear Sherlock had run away. 

John's blood ran cold. He sighed and darted from the area, looking over the road. There was a park across the road that, just like the pacifier, Sherlock had been eyeing up over the weeks they passed it. John had promised him that once the case was closed that they could go there. He couldn't think of anywhere better to look as of yet; finding it easier to start small.

The park was pretty much derelict, with only a few mothers feeding young children in buggies. There was a small child squealing as she swung herself down the slide. John felt awkward as he hung lamely in the park, looking for any sight of his 'little boy'. 

He offered the mothers a small, strangely apologetic smile. They pulled their buggies slightly closer to eachother and turned away; he huffed and moved on.  
John looked everywhere. The slide, tree swing, boating lake. He was about to turn away and give up, when something dragged his attention to the playhouse. The old, grubby playhouse.

 _He wouldn't be in there,_ John thought to himself. _He can't fit in that, surely._

John went towards it. _It was a stupid idea,_ he told himself. "Sherlock?" He found himself calling, tugging open the door. There, sitting hugging himself, with flushed puffy cheeks was none other than Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock!" John grinned, voice weak in relief. "There you are! What were you doing in there!? I've been looking all over!"

Sherlock hugged himself tighter, unresponsive, staring straight ahead. His lack of response made John feel uncomfortable. Coughing, he tugged on his shirt collar. "Ah, alright then. Let's get a cab and go home." He nodded, gently pulling Sherlock up. He tugged the elder man in close to him and walked off. The mothers with buggies eyed him up with scrutiny but otherwise ignored him.

John knew from Sherlock's icy composure that he was barely keeping it together as they left the prying public eye. Sure enough, the minute John had hailed a taxicab and got Sherlock and himself buckled in nice and tight, the tears began again. 

"Daddy!" Sherlock finally wept, tears trickling down his cheeks as his lip puckered. "Daddy, they took her! Melody is g-o-o-o-one!" 

He started to bawl, his sobs intense and drawn out as his shoulders shook. 

John looked sympathetic at Sherlock. "Oh, Sherlock." He murmured softly, "Come here."  
John pulled Sherlock into his arms. He let Sherlock put a snotty, soaked cheek to his chest and rocked him slowly back and forth for the rest of the ride home, his arms locked onto the boy. "Hush now. Hush." He whispered into Sherlock's tangled curls. "Hush. Everything's going to be alright, baby." He promised, his voice as low and drawn out as Sherlock's own sobs, but soothing and luxurious. "Melody loves you, and she's going to fly right back home to us."

Sherlock looked up, and John felt a pang. The detective's eyes were swollen with tears and glassy like marbles. "S- she will?" He asked, unable to believe it. He clung to John's checkered shirt, desperate for comfort.

"I'm positive she will." John told him, making a gesture to the driver as they pulled up to 221B and passing over £5 in shiny pound coins. "After all, who wants to spend time on a boring old crime scene with stinky Anderson?" He asked, hoping for a giggle. For the first time since Melody had disappeared, Sherlock offered John a fluttery, paper thin smile.  
~

It was a couple of nights later when John sighed, fraught with sleep, as Sherlock shone a light into his face. The army doctor squinted against the brightness, but found it in him to chuckle sleepily. "Hello, you.." He cooed at Sherlock, shifting up in bed. "You come for a cuddle?"

"I miss Melody." Sherlock said, forlorn tears trickling down his cheeks. The duck shaped torch he held in his hands was quickly abandoned on the floor with a thump and flickered out.

"Oh sweetheart.." John murmured apologetically. The night time wakings had become ever frequent now Melody was gone. Though John loved nothing more than a cuddle from his little one - there were times he regretted giving Sherlock his own bassinet - it did mean that John struggled to drift off even when Sherlock was fast asleep. He gently pulled Sherlock into the bed anyway, cuddling him close as he patted the thick curls. With every pat, Sherlock felt his eyelids droop until he was fast asleep.

While John was wide awake.

Sighing into the darkness, John watched Sherlock sleep for a short while, the rise of his chest before the fall. The fluttering of feathery lashes whenever he dreamed. As much as John tried to pull himself into the same state, he couldn't, and instead found his eyes travelling to his laptop.

Late night blog post it was.

**30th May 2014: We're going on a Duck Hunt...**  
_We're going to find a small one, a Sherlock's precious toy one. Mmmm, I don't think that scans, my future in nursery rhymes looks poor. Mind you, I could go on Mastermind with my knowledge of Saturday morning children's cartoons... Thank-you for that, Sherlock.  
Anyway, it pains me to write this, but... I was wrong to tempt fate. The ongoing investigation into the death of the regressed woman continued a few days ago and I let myself be taken in by Sherlock's puppy dog eyes... The crux of this being, that we had an extra member of the team in the form of Melody the duckling. Bless him, Sherlock lasted really well while we were out. Unfortunately Melody did a poor show of staying hidden and was found by Anderson, Lestrade, and Donovan. Sherlock didn't stand a chance of getting Melody back. As of now she is missing - and I have a very upset little boy coming in for night visits._

John found himself growing irritated at recounting what had happened. He tapped harder on the keys.

_I can't go and get Melody back when I have Sherlock. He's gone so far into his 'little space' in an attempt to cope with this that I worry he's not going to hide it when he gets her back. As much as I love little Sherlock, I don't think Lestrade, Donovan, or Anderson will appreciate him. I think I might let him stay with Mrs. Hudson tomorrow while I go on a rescue mission._

The glare of the bright screen and John's rapid tapping on the keyboard was making Sherlock stir every now and then, whimpering and pulling free, ever nosy. After the third time of John nuzzling him in closer, Sherlock was having none of it. He squinted at the bright screen with exhaustion. "Daddy.. What's that?" He yawned.

"A blog post, love." John explained. "Daddy's nearly finished. Back to sleep, you. You were having lovely dreams." He said, stroking Sherlock's twisted curls. 

"Wan' write like Daddy." Sherlock mumbled. "Can I?"

John sighed, not in the mood to argue with his toddler at this time of night. "Okay, but just a bit." He offered the keyboard, glowing dimly. Sherlock studied it intently, not understanding the letters. The look of concentration continued as he gave the keyboard a whack or five.

_ergfldth fdng dfsbskow wq4r0llt 0itsdh0jjgterwffwrergqergqas_

Sherlock smiled proudly, and John grinned. "Lovely, baby. Let me guess. 'Please help me find Melody'?"  
Sherlock nodded. He pulled his pacifier from the clip and stuck it into his mouth as he settled down, beginning to give gentle suckles that dragged him back into sleep. John's stroking of his hair helped sleep slowly overcome him and, when John was sure Sherlock was fast asleep, he turned back to the blog.

 _That was Sherlock's input - please help us find Melody! On that note, I think I'll end it off here. If I'm going on a duck hunt tomorrow I can't do it comatose._  
~

Thankfully, John managed to settle for the night and did not feel comatose the next morning. He was fussing around in the kitchen as Sherlock ate his breakfast - oatmeal with banana. "Are you ready for your nice day with Mrs. Hudson?" John asked the younger, with a soft coo.

"Mmmmmm. Mrs Hudson has Jammie Dodgers in her biscuit tin." Sherlock told John seriously in between chews. "M' gonna nibble 'em."

John giggled softly, giving Sherlock's milky banana mouth a kiss. "Not too many. If you're a good, non greedy boy, I'm sure she'll make you some hot chocolate in your bottle." He nodded, smiling when Sherlock gasped.

"Who's making hot chocolate now?" A quavering voice asked, Mrs. Hudson peering into the boys' kitchenette. Sherlock burst into giggles, covering his mouth. "You are, Mrs. Hudson!"

"Only if you're a good boy!" John added quickly, stealing another kiss from Sherlock before darting from the flat.  
Outside, the army doctor called Lestrade. "Lestrade." He barked.

"Jesus. What is it, Watson?" Lestrade murmured. 

"Sorry." John murmured apologetically, dipping his head low as he spied for a cab too. "Have forensics looked over the items, yet?"

"Yes, they have." Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "We're beginning to close it up at this point, no leads. Prob'ly reopen it sooner or later. The ointments were standard. Your typical Tescos stuff." He shrugged. 

Yeah, yeah. "Alright, and, the duckling?"

There was a moment, tension crackling on the line between the pair. "The one thing forensics hadn't looked over." Lestrade told John finally. "Anderson's theory was ridiculous. Forensics said that it hadn't been tampered with and no powder was able to diffuse through the plush. Chewed tag though, must've been a dog toy or something. I didn't know Sherlock had a dog." He murmured. "Why?"

"Well, dogs are cute..." John murmured, nervously, scratching his ear with confusion.

"No, I mean. Why the duckling?" Lestrade clarified. 

"I'm assuming it's still in forensics. I just need it back, that's all." John said vaguely. Before Lestrade could properly question why, John had cut him off and jumped in a Hackney cab that slowed to a stop in front of him.

Sherlock wandered inside with Mrs. Hudson, a little nervous. He looked warily at her and stuck his fingers in his mouth. His onesie had been taken off shortly before breakfast - Sherlock liked wandering around in just his nappy - but now he felt very nervous indeed. He shifted foot to foot.

"Do you want your onesie back, love?" Mrs. Hudson murmured, smiling at him. She picked it up from the floor and shook it out. It was red and covered in little birds. "How sweet."

Sherlock blushed and fidgeted. He wanted it back on, but usually only Daddy did that. Praying Mrs. Hudson had mind powers, he just looked thickly to her. 

"You need help. I know, love. Pop onto my lap." She patted her lap.

Sherlock whined. He moved in slow long strides to her lap, as she watched with a comforting smile, and slowly sat. She held his waist comfortingly, and he looked confused at her. She rolled the bottom of the onesie up and gently slid his legs into it, before he slipped off her lap and tugged his arms in. Then he whimpered.

"Daddy..?"

Mrs. Hudson cooed sadly. "He's out, my love. I heard you lost one of your toys."  
John had told her about his plan. If Lestrade refused to give it back he was going to the toy store and buying a replacement or ten. Under no circumstances was she allowed to tell Sherlock; it was a secret.

It was Sherlock's turn to look sad and he nodded, his face crumpling up. "Lost Melody." He told miserably, his lip trembling.

"Mmm? I'm sure she'll turn up, sweetie." Mrs. Hudson ruffled his curls. "What does she look like? Maybe you can put a picture up, and people will find her." She pointed out. Sherlock's eyes widened in obvious marvel at this idea and he nodded gleefully, and clapped his hands messily, missing a couple of times. "Yes!" He giggled, "I wanna do that! That is a..." He paused, a big word coming into his head, and had to work it out. "Genius idea!" the little one finally praised.

"Of course, love." The elder disappeared off, and returned five minutes later with an icecream tub full of Crayola and multicoloured sugar paper. Sherlock watched her plop them down on the floor with him as he rocked back and forth on his padded bum, releasing loud crinkles. He grabbed a thick yellow crayon and started to scribble, lost in the loops and the lines as he tried to get Melody's feathers juuuuust right. He was so lost in his colouring that he didn't register Mrs. Hudson putting a bottle of milky hot chocolate next to him, or a small bowl of Jammie Dodgers. It was only when he stopped, arms aching, as bright yellow blazes streamed across the paper; that he noticed and squeaked, pulling the bottle into his mouth and suckling appreciatively.

Mrs Hudson looked over, her owlish eyes scrutinising the paper carefully. "Oh," She cooed, "What a beautiful picture!"

Sherlock pulled the nipple of his bottle from his mouth with an obnoxious _pop_. "S'not done yet." He informed the old lady, who giggled as he went back to scribbling. 

"If you say so, dear..."  
~

In forensics, John attempted to keep the straight faced stare as he requested Lestrade take him to the room where forensic analysis was intended to be taking place on the duckling. Lestrade still didn't question it, but the question was burning on his tongue anyway. He sighed, gesturing to the open case which held many baby artefacts, including the blessed duck. "Here, Watson. Is this all you wanted?"

John sighed, scooping up the tiny yellow plush one handed, a faint smile coming across his face. "God, yes. Thank you so much." He said, unable to stop gratitude slipping out when he spoke. 

Lestrade glanced at the plush for a long moment, then back up at John.  
"Why do you need this anyway?" He hesitated, trying to remove it from John's grasp. 

John gasped and flinched as he held the plush back. "I- it's for.." He racked his brain. "For my-- niece! -- it's her birthday on Saturday." He said, nodding unsurely.

A bolt of tension crackled between the two men. 

"Niece?" Lestrade nodded, still eyeing the duckling. "Didn't know you had a niece."

"Yeah. Harry... adopted." John coughed, praying that Lestrade wouldn't drag this out longer than he needed to.

Lestrade made a soft sound, which sounded like an, 'oh'. Coughing soft, he spoke up. "Congratulations..."  
Lestrade chose not to ask why the toy was on Sherlock's belt loop and in the moment of silence that followed this, John quickly excused himself, stuffing Melody into his trouser pocket. "Sorry." He found himself muttering awkwardly to the duckling, stepping back out into the cold Spring air as he waited to hail a cab.  
~

Sherlock was kneeled down on the floor, still scribbling on the sugar paper. He made wide red arches, trying to spell out his name. It was quite a long and complicated name, Sherlock thought to himself, but he was such a big boy for knowing it, still. In his mind, the curling, flicking scribbles transformed into letters right there. Satisfied, he nodded and settled back.

A pressure made itself known in his bladder at just that second. He whimpered, pulling the palm of his hand there and squeezed, trying not to wet. He looked to the telly. Mrs. Hudson was watching some show with red boxes. She was distracted. Good. He curled up tighter and slowly let the pressure in his bladder go, a thin stream soaking into the nappy. He tried not to make it too obvious, but kept glancing at his crotch as the nappy grew a heavy warm and wet. 

When done, he shivered and sighed. The nappy sagging low between his legs, Sherlock stood and waddled - just like Melody! - over to Mrs. Hudson. He tugged the sleeve of her cardigan.

"Ooooh, Edna just lost £1000." Mrs. Hudson winced, murmuring, at the telly. Sherlock blinked, confused.  
"Where'd she lose it?" He asked. His fingers were about to dip into his mouth but he pulled away, remembering. "Mrs. Hudson. Change." He requested softly. 

She nodded. "Of course, lovie." Laying him down on the rug - well used to changing Sherlock's nappies at this point - she unpopped the poppers on his onesie and eased his lower half free. The elder was about to make quick work of the tapes hugging the nappy to Sherlock's waist when the younger boy shot up, gasping. "Wait!"

Mrs. Hudson jumped and sat back. "What is it, love?" She asked, panic seeping into her voice. Sherlock jumped up and grabbed a green crayon, thick spikes worming onto the paper. He smiled satisfied once more and scooped the picture up. "Finished it!" He beamed. 

"That looks wonderful, Sherlock. Why don't you tell me what it says while I change you." She told him, now relaxed, and began to work on the soaked nappy uninterrupted. 

Sherlock nodded. He pointed to the yellow blob. "That's Melody." It looked just like her, Mrs. Hudson informed him, and he beamed with pleased pride.

He pointed to the red scribbles. "That says... that says, lost. Lost baby duck." He said. 

Then, he drew Mrs. Hudson's attention to the green scribbles. "Oh yeah?" She murmured. "What does that say?"

"Reward. One billion moneys." Sherlock said, nodding. Sherlock was sure Melody had cost John about one billion moneys. Maybe even a trillion. Or - gasp - a gazillion. And three. 

"Mhhhm." Mrs. Hudson showed interest, pulling a now-clean Sherlock into her arms. She studied the page of unintelligible scribbles with a smile, pointing at a black and blue mass in the corner. "What's that?"

"Me." Sherlock said, but he had lost his fire. "Me with tears. 'Cus Melody got takeded away." He told the old lady, sniffling. New tears threatened to come gushing from his eyes. Mrs Hudson tutted softly, kissing Sherlock's cheek. "No tears, little one." She rocked him very slightly back and forth. The little one slowly became soothed, but didn't sleep. He nodded at her to continue.

Her slow, gentle rocking was cut by a knock at the door. Sherlock very nearly whined in frustration at this until John stepped in with rain studding his coat.  
"Daddy!" Sherlock squeaked, darting toward the man. All frustration forgotten, he hugged Daddy tightly. "I missed you!" He burbled. 

"You did, hmm? Well, it looks like you've had a nice time here anyway." John smiled, looking at the living room. Crayons and paper were strewn out over the floor and table, with the empty bottle and bowl next to it. The bottle was dripping slowly onto the table where Sherlock had put it. 

"Uh huh." Sherlock decided, and then smiled as he showed John his picture with an excited smile on his face. "Look what I made, Daddy!" He said softly. "'S a poster for Melody because Melody was takeded away." He explained, launching into the explanation of what the pictures and scribbles actually meant. John looked down at him with a slow smile spreading over his features. "Oh wow, Sherlock, that looks lovely." He praised, Sherlock beaming in pride. 

"...Buuuuut I don't think you need that for much longer." John cooed. Mrs. Hudson looked up with a smile as Sherlock grew confused, frowning a little. "Wha.." Sherlock mumbled. 

When the baby didn't click, John grinned as he took the duckling plush from his trouser pocket and held it out at Sherlock's eye level. 

_Now_ Sherlock understood. 

He opened his mouth. 

He closed it again. 

"Melody!" He finally bawled, clutching the toy to his cheeks, sniffling and coughing. He refused to let go of her, tears slowly coming down his cheeks. 

"Aww." Mrs. Hudson said, her heart melting. She smiled. John giggled, watching Sherlock and toy cheer eachother up. He put his arm on Sherlock's shoulder, easing him in close. "Happy, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned, blurting out a billion 'thank you's into John's coat. 

As John pulled his strong arms around Sherlock, the boy finally let out a much-needed yawn. "Ooooh." John chuckled fondly. "Someone's tired, hmmm? Come on. You've had a busy afternoon."  
~

Shortly afterwards, John had Sherlock settled on the settee. Usually, Sherlock rarely slept, but the gain of his little side and loss of Melody proved he needed it. Clutching the duck to his cheek, and sucking softly on his dummy, the non-detective allowed himself to slip into sleep. When his breathing slowed and evened out, John looked over from the opposite couch, chuckling fondly. 

"Thank God." Mrs. Hudson nodded, chuckling too. "I'd been trying to tire him out when you walked in."

John nodded. "Well, you did a great job."  
He gestured to the slightly snoring Sherlock on the couch. Mrs. Hudson looked over at the young one again with a fondness in her eyes. "Oh no, John, it wasn't me. He really missed that duck." She informed. 

John smiled. He quietly excused himself to update the blog.  
~

**31st May 2014: Duckling Found!**  
_Well, painful crisis averted. I went to forensics and took the duckling straight back. Might have lied a little and said that my sister was adopting, though. Heh. Anyway, the duckling is home, safe and sound in Sherlock's arms. Bless him, he even drew a poster asking other people to help out. I can't risk popping it up outside, but I can let it stay on the fridge at least. And get a few hundred Melody Duckling clones... I can't risk this happening another time. I couldn't risk the loss of sleep and poor Mrs. Hudson would be out of Jammie Dodgers._

_So, I'll end this blog post off here; relatively short compared to the others. No doubt I'll be back and writing about Sherlock and that damn duckling within the next three weeks. Not that I'd have it any other way._

_But she really is stealing all my little boy cuddles._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! Comments and kudos appreciated :-)  
> I'm not sure when I'm going to be writing more, at least for Sherlock.
> 
> For this fic I gave myself a new pseud (*twirls* how's it look?)  
> but if you're 1D/5sos trash like myself and you enjoy Omorashi or ABDL, I have plenty of other Fanfiction under my other pseud, Star_less. Comments and kudos are appreciated there too -- but not necessary, of course. It felt a bit weird to put my Sherlock with my 1D, you know?
> 
> Anyway. Thank you. :-)


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